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A few years ago, I sat in our local church with my daughters during an all-age service. The pastor told a story that I was reminded of again recently. It wasn’t dramatic or ground-breaking, but it stuck with me, partly because it captured something I’d often seen but never quite found words for.

It was a story about three brothers, their late father’s will, and 17 camels. The father, a wealthy man, had left clear instructions in his will:

• The eldest son would receive half the camels
• The middle son would receive one-third
• The youngest was to receive one-ninth

The sons were content… until they tried to divide up the camels – half of 17 is 8.5, a third is just under 6, and a ninth is a little under 2. No one wanted to cut a camel in half, and no one was willing to accept less than their fair share. They reached a deadlock with each brother protecting his own interests and growing increasingly frustrated.

Then a wise man arrived. Seeing their predicament, he offered his one and only camel to add to the herd. With 18 camels now in total, the maths worked:

• The eldest got 9
• The middle son 6
• The youngest 2

That’s 17 camels. The wise man took back his own camel and walked away with everyone happy!

There’s something beautifully simple about this tale, yet the message is profound. In everyday life, particularly when money, time or pride are involved, it’s easy to get stuck in a “what’s in it for me” mindset. We defend our ground, cling to fractions of things we don’t want to let go of and lose sight of solutions that lie just beyond the obvious.

The story reminds us that problems often feel unsolvable, not because they truly are but because we’re looking at them through a narrow lens. We assume that compromise means loss and that helping others get what they need means giving up on what we need. But what if the opposite is true?

Sometimes the solution is simply to step back, bring in a new perspective or add something to the mix, even temporarily, to create clarity. The wise man in the story wasn’t personally caught up in the dispute, so he could see the bigger picture. That distance gave him insight the brothers didn’t have.

This happens in teams, families and organisations all the time. We get stuck in binary thinking: either I win or you do, but not both of us. What if, like the wise man, we introduce something new, not to give something up permanently, but to unlock a better outcome? That might mean adding a resource, offering a fresh idea or simply being willing to shift the focus from what’s fair on paper to what actually works in practice.

Of course, stepping back is hard when emotions run high or when stakes feel personal, but that’s often when it matters most.

So here’s the takeaway: when faced with a tricky situation, ask yourself, “what’s the extra camel?” What small addition or shift in mindset might break the deadlock? Can you see beyond the fractions and find a whole?

You might just solve the problem without sacrificing a thing.

I’ve always considered myself relatively fit. I played all sorts of sports for many years: squash, hockey, cycling, running, even BMX racing when I was much younger. So when I recently found myself out of shape, it felt like a bit of a jolt. The decline wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly through minor injuries, missed workouts, and that classic excuse of “life getting in the way.” But deep down I know keeping fit is part of life not separate from it.

A few weeks ago I decided to get back into shape ahead of the new rugby season in September. I didn’t launch straight into a race or full-on training, I knew better than that. Instead, I gave myself a couple of weeks to build back up gradually. Some gentle runs, some consistency, just getting used to moving again. Then, once I felt ready, I lined up for my first Parkrun in years.

It was tough, surprisingly so. Despite starting near the back and going at a really easy pace (compared to my past efforts), I was out of breath early, legs heavy, rhythm gone. My time was well off my personal best from ten years ago. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Fitness fades, and I’m not exactly getting younger, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. As Jeff Olson says in The Slight Edge, success is easy to do but also easy not to do, and for too long, I’d been in the “not to do” camp.

Still, I didn’t let that dismay turn into defeat. Two weeks later, I returned to Parkrun and ran a significantly faster time. Not back to peak levels, but a big chunk off nonetheless and enough to show progress was possible. That single improvement gave me a lift. It reminded me that although coming back can be humbling, it can also be very rewarding.

One thing struck me. At peak performance, progress is measured in fine margins. You’re trying to shave off seconds here and there, but when you’re rebuilding, improvements can come quickly, almost in chunks. There’s actually a name for this: diminishing returns. The better you get, the harder it is to improve, but early on, small efforts can create big changes.

That’s a comforting truth when you’re starting again. You’re not back at square one. You’re simply at a point where progress is visible and motivating if you choose to see it that way.

The key is to start with a clear target, set a plan, and then commit to the process. Not a heroic all-in-for-two-weeks burst. That usually ends in injury or burnout. What works is consistency. A sensible, progressive routine. One that your body can adapt to and your mind can stick with.

Every run, every rep, every decision to move rather than make excuses counts. They compound over time. When I look at the numbers – my improved Parkrun time, how much better I felt the second time round – I can’t help but feel encouraged. It’s a reminder that the work pays off, even if the gap between where you are and where you were feels daunting at first.

So if you’re in the same boat, coming back from time out, injury, or just feeling stuck, don’t let the gap scare you. See it for what it is: a space filled with opportunity. Set your goal, trust the plan, and keep showing up. The comeback might just become your best chapter yet.

Why Bold Leaps Can Redefine Our Lives

“It’s no better to be safe than sorry.” That lyric from a-ha’s Take on Me has been playing on repeat in my mind lately, not just because it’s catchy, but because it challenges something deeply ingrained in many of us. For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived under the watchful gaze of two trusted sayings:

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Look before you leap.”

They were lovingly handed down by my parents and grandparents, and for the most part they helped shape a life rooted in caution, consideration, and care. But here’s the twist: some of the most life-defining, transformative choices I’ve made have flown in the face of them.

A Personal Story

Take, for instance, the decision to leave Zimbabwe – my homeland, my roots, my everything familiar.

I can still picture the scene vividly. We were gathered around the dinner table when I simply announced, with all the casual finality of someone discussing weekend plans, “I’m going to move to England.”

To say it surprised my parents would be an understatement. I’d given no indication. No drawn-out deliberations. No pros-and-cons lists. Just a declaration that came seemingly out of nowhere… and yet, from that moment on, the course of my life shifted.

Looking back, I’m not sure I’d thought it through in the traditional sense. But what I had was a gut-level certainty, a pull stronger than the voice of caution. Had I clung to those old adages, had I waited to be sure, to be “safe,” I might never have gone.

Exploring the Insight

There’s no denying the good intentions behind the conventional wisdom passed down to us. Most sayings like “look before you leap” come from a place of love… ancestors and elders who, in trying to protect us from harm, hoped to spare us pain. Yes, there’s real wisdom in that, but taken too literally, these ideas can become shackles.

Human progress has rarely been shaped by certainty. The explorers, the innovators, the pioneers – they didn’t wait until the path was proven or perfectly planned. They moved despite the risk, not because it was safe but because it mattered.

A Wider Reflection

There’s another quote that’s always stayed with me:

“A ship in harbour is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.”

We weren’t built to stay tethered to the familiar, anchored in fear. We were made for movement, for trying, for stretching, for believing that even if the waters are choppy, we’ll find a way to sail.

That’s where a-ha’s lyric strikes a chord. It flips the age-old saying on its head. Because maybe it’s not always better to be safe than sorry. Maybe sometimes the real regret lies in not leaping when our heart is calling us forward.

Closing Encouragement

So the next time you’re standing at the edge of a decision, staring into the unknown, ask yourself: “Am I playing it safe because it’s wise… or because it’s comfortable?”

Take a breath. Take a beat. And then, maybe, just maybe, take the leap.

You might just find that you already have everything within you to face whatever comes. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s safe. But because you’re ready.